


A Place In The Hungering Sky

by Interrobang



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Fisting, M/M, Porn with Feelings, bottom asterius, in case that wasn't clear from the summary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29512677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobang/pseuds/Interrobang
Summary: And Asterius knew of Theseus’s lusts—  the man wasn’t exactly subtle about seeking out partners, nor was he subtle in his vocal enjoyment of being conquered in bed. (And, rarely, conquering as well. They had had a very strange one-sided conversation prior to the first consummation of their relationship in which Theseus had made extended, convoluted metaphors about cavalry and marine warfare that Asterius still does not quite understand.)It’s just that Asterius doesn’t always want to play the domineering conqueror. He had had a lifetime of violence before this, of fighting and domination and brute force. He’d had plenty of it in the afterlife, too.Now he would prefer—  and felt he deserved—  something gentler. Perhaps he would prefer to be taken care of, for once, laid back on soft pillows and tended to like the deserving creature he was.
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 134





	A Place In The Hungering Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This was the result of a livewrite I did on Valentine's Day-- if you were live for that, thank you very much for coming out to see the raw draft get crafted! This was born out of my need for bottom Asterius and for him to get thoroughly loved on. Not enough of that in this fandom, as far as I've seen. 
> 
> Title from lyrics for Keep Me Light by Tall Places  
>  _I don't care if the darkness is soon to arrive  
>  Just save me a place in the hungering sky  
> I don't mind if the world's running out of light  
> I'll stay, I'll stay there by your side_

Asterius has known for a long time that Theseus found him desirable. It wasn’t that he felt like a piece of meat, per se, but more...that Theseus looked at him like he was a sumptuous meal to be devoured slowly, with great relish. His gaze turned heated when he thought Asterius wasn't looking, and it was only the fact that Theseus knew Asterius felt the same that stopped the man from hiding it when found out.

It was very flattering— enough to make a bull blush.

Asterius knew his worth; it had taken him many, many decades to grow his own opinion of himself. It had taken him time, far longer than the comparatively few years he had on the surface, to realize that he had value beyond just what his body could offer. When he was regarded as a monster, his body had been something to be terrified of; when he was made into a champion alongside his former rival and greatest friend, it was something to praise. He had a formidable form, yes, but was that all?

And Asterius knew of Theseus’s lusts— the man wasn’t exactly subtle about seeking out partners, nor was he subtle in his vocal enjoyment of being conquered in bed. (And, rarely, conquering as well. They had had a _very_ strange one-sided conversation prior to the first consummation of their relationship in which Theseus had made extended, convoluted metaphors about cavalry and marine warfare that Asterius still does not quite understand.)

It’s just that Asterius doesn’t always _want_ to play the domineering conqueror. He had had a lifetime of violence before this, of fighting and domination and brute force. He’d had plenty of it in the afterlife, too.

Now he would prefer— and felt he _deserved—_ something gentler. Perhaps _he_ would prefer to be taken care of, for once, laid back on soft pillows and tended to like the deserving creature he was.

Of course, it only took one conversation— stuttering, quiet, mortifyingly explicit— to tell Theseus exactly what he wanted. The king, perhaps not all _that_ surprisingly, was enthusiastic in his response.

And so they come to tonight.

After their discussion, Theseus had made it _very_ clear that he was going to make this as rich and sumptuous a night as he could. He had made Asterius promise not to peek, not to try and find out what he had planned. So when Asterius walked into their shared quarters, he was not exactly sure _what_ to expect, except that it would perhaps be a little over-the-top and extravagant, and also very thoughtful.

He wasn’t expecting this: their bed laid out, piled high with decorative pillows, new blankets and furs and apparently anything else comfortable Theseus could get his hands on. It looked like he’d stolen from every lounge in Elysium just to build a comfortable place for Asterius to recline.

There were candles of course, and somewhere in the distance a lyre played soft patternless notes, and on the side table was a jar of oil that was, Asterius did not doubt, scented in something spiced or floral, whichever Theseus had deemed most appropriate for this event. (And there was _no_ doubt that Theseus thought it an Event. His King did not do things by halves.)

Theseus led him over to the bed, babbling over this and that— all of it clearly a cover for his nerves.

“And there, Asterius, you see? I have acquired anything you would need. There are refreshments in the other room for, er, _after_ , and I am quite sure no one will disturb us, and I assure you that I have done some _very_ interesting reading preparing for this…”

Asterius turned his amused smile on Theseus. “I am sure you have, King.”

Theseus did not look like he knew what to say, only blustering grinning nervously and adding, “Ah, yes! I, well, of course—”

It was easier to lean down, to tuck his snout into the join of shoulder and throat and huff a soft laugh right where the rumble of it would vibrate into Theseus’s ear, and to simply murmur a gentle “Thank you. Where should we start?”

“I thought I would let you decide that, my friend,” Theseus said, his face darkening even as he said it. He stalked about the room, nervously fiddling with this or that procurement. He plucked at a grape from the side table, then lifted up various stoppered vials as if trying to discern which was the most suitable for the evening, and then, finally, turned to Asterius as if he could not resist looking one second longer. “I rather thought that I would let you set the pace for this. I have been— well, not _selfish_ ,” Theseus stuttered, “But, er, perhaps not as considerate of your needs.” He looked up at Asterius, his mien a touch nervous. “Just let me know what you desire, and I will make it happen.”

Asterius took his time looking around. What _did_ he want? He thought of how eagerly Theseus had offered up his thighs, his mouth. He thought of the boasting Theseus had done about the sheer size of the men he’d taken inside him as if mentioning other men to Asterius would somehow spur him to make his claim more forcefully.

He thought of Theseus’s beautiful hands. How they were surprisingly wide, and callused even in this place where there was no need for the remnants of battles and training to remain on the body. How capable they were, how dextrous.

He snorted, once, and sat on the edge of the bed carefully. Theseus seemed to freeze as Asterius began removing his clothing, carefully setting aside the belt, the armor, the draping cloth of his chiton.

“A fine specimen as always…” Theseus seemed unable to stop himself from saying. He looked to Asterius once for approval before quickly beginning to shuck his clothes as well. He straightened, brightening when Asterius beckoned him closer. It was easy to cup Theseus’s jaw in one of his own large hands, to lean down and nuzzle their jaws together. Theseus’s shiver against him was exquisite, the movement involuntary and all the more precious for it.

“What do you need?” Theseus asked, his voice more quiet than Asterius had ever heard it. His eyes, when Asterius pulled back to look at them, were intense in their desire, yet gentle, searching Asterius’s face. It was enough to make a bull blush, Asterius thought shyly, to be so cared for. Here, in the quiet of their rooms, Theseus could allow himself to shed the mantle of Champion and simply exist with Asterius as two souls, an eternity in front of them.

“Your hands,” Asterius managed to say at last. He leaned back into the pile of pillows, pulling Theseus along with him with the merest tug of his wrist. Theseus followed eagerly, laying his body along Asterius’s own until there was not an inch between them. Asterius lay one hand on his King’s waist, not for the first time startled at how, even though Theseus was a broad man, his own hand spanned easily across Theseus’s waist. He could lift him if he wanted to— could hold him, heft him about like a toy for his own wanton use.

But that was not what he wanted. Not tonight, at least.

Asterius snorted again, leaning down to kiss Theseus gently. He deserved this gentleness, he told himself over and over. He deserved to love someone slowly, to love them thoroughly. He deserved to be loved thoroughly in return— and he had found that here with Theseus, in the twilight shade of their rooms, in this luxurious den Theseus had built for him.

Asterius sighed as Theseus’s hands wandered, mapping out his body for the thousandth time. He was always so _eager_. His fingers dug through Asterius’s fine fur, the dark fuzz of it downy-soft beneath his hands. They scratched against the grain in a most tantalizing way, smoothing again as Theseus drew his hands down along Asterius’s torso, the warmth of them trailing like the tail of a meteor.

It was easy to shift under Theseus’s hands, utterly relaxed as he lay back, urging Theseus to lean over him. It was nice to be so tended to, Asterius thought idly. He let one large thigh fall to the side, and as if reading his mind Theseus trailed one hand down, petting the soft fur of his belly until it came to rest at his groin, fingers gently feeling out the soft line of his sheath.

Asterius was not loud by nature. In life, he had rarely had occasion to even speak; in this afterlife, he rarely had need to raise his voice beyond a low rumble. Yet here, in the safety of this space Theseus had made for them, Asterius could allow himself to let his body dictate what noises it wanted to make. He sighed as Theseus pet at his sheath, urging the length of his cock to harden and emerge, slick and pale pink, freckled as the rest of Asterius was not. He let himself moan, low and quiet, when Theseus dropped his hand even lower, to roll and squeeze his testicles in his palm— and to groan, louder perhaps than intended, when he realized that Theseus’s palm was not _large_ enough to hold all of him.

He allowed himself, too, to groan quietly when Theseus’s hand roamed lower, petting at the center of him like he was contemplating a particularly interesting new strategy.

“I would take you to new heights,” Theseus murmured against his lips. “What do you need, my beloved bull?”

Asterius could not find the words to respond, and so he only rolled his hips, letting his legs fall open further, encouraging Theseus in his explorations.

“I only need you,” Asterius said after a minute of contemplation, during which Theseus kissed at his neck and shoulder. “Your hands…” he murmured again.

Seeming to alight upon an idea, Theseus smiled against his mouth, kissing him soundly with a soft laugh. “May I try something?”

Asterius nodded. He relaxed in the decadent pile that had been accumulated just for him, letting the warm air of their room fill his lungs. As a shade, he had no _need_ to breathe, but it felt good to take in the softly-scented air, the spice and faint floral notes and Theseus’s skin so near.

For a split second Theseus’s hands were gone, but then they returned, one slicked with oil. Their size difference was great, but it was still gratifying to hear the surprised huff of air from Theseus at the realization that he could easily fit three of his own fingers inside Asterius with little work.

“I suppose I should have expected this,” Theseus said, laughing in appreciation. “But still, the way you open around me...you are magnificent, Asterius.” He pressed a kiss to Asterius’s belly, the most he could reach from his position down by Asterius’s hips. His fingers curled inside Asterius, an insistent, strange pressure. It was welcome: the heat of Theseus against him, the drag of calluses against his own giving body. He felt strangely vulnerable like this, spread open and slowly being taken apart.

He sighed again as Theseus gently pressed his pinky in alongside his other three fingers. This was a little more of a stretch, the full spread of his palm almost enough to ache. Yet the thought of more lit something in Asterius’s gut, making him lift his hips, moaning ever so much louder than before.

Like a hunter spotting its prey, Theseus’s face lit up in a dark grin that spread like warm chocolate across his features, sweet and dangerous.

“Let yourself open to it,” he purred, pressing more kisses to Asterius’s stomach. His free hand slowly stroked Asterius’s length, petting almost carefully, as if afraid of letting this be over too soon. He leaned down to tongue at Asterius’s cock, dragging the flat of his tongue with uncharacteristic patience against the head. Asterius could barely watch, squirming, as Theseus pressed wet kisses to his cock while his fingers worked in and out of his hole in a slow, steady drag.

Asterius was torn between closing his eyes and giving over to the pleasure or somehow forcing himself to keep them open to greedily take in the sight of what, he dizzily thought, must be an act of worship. What else _could_ it be, when his king’s eyes were so hungry yet gentle, constantly searching for what he thought would please Asterius best? What else could it be, when Theseus moaned and kissed his length like it was his own wanting mouth?

He let one hand fall to Theseus’s shoulder, simply settling its weight there for a point of contact. He could feel Theseus’s muscles shifting under his palm: one hand working at his cock, slow as the lazy flood of a summer shore, the other arm pistoning his palm in and out of Asterius’s hole.

“Asterius—” Theseus groaned, his voice sounding just as broken as Asterius feared his own would be if he tried to utter more than base syllables. “If— if I could—”

 _“Yes,”_ Asterius moaned, his grip tightening on Theseus’s shoulder. “Whatever you are thinking, yes, I— I trust your judgement, King.” His mind raced with the possibilities, all zeroing in on the hot stretch of Theseus’s fingers inside him, arcing just out of reach of where he knew the greatest pleasure lay. Their greatest downfall, the one lament Asterius had in this moment, was that their size difference was _so_ great that Theseus’s fingers alone were not quite long enough to reach where they would be most impactful.

Asterius moaned as Theseus drew his fingers out slightly, pausing. He could hear the king’s rasping breath, quick in his throat as it only ever was in moments of great need or when fighting a battle he desperately wanted to win. For half a moment Theseus seemed to hesitate— yet when Asterius opened his eyes (and when had he closed them?) Theseus was staring straight at him, his eyes a desperate blazing blue like the heart of fire.

Seemingly having found what he was looking for, Theseus leaned down again, resuming his worship of Asterius’s cock in slow, measured drags of his tongue. Then, with a small shifting, Asterius felt the final push: Theseus’s thumb, tucked neatly into the shelter of his other four fingers, oiled and pushing against him. Asterius was large, but even he had his limits, and here there was resistance. He held his breath, willing that part of him to soften if possible.

And then the jolt as his knuckle pushed through— _inside_ him, Asterius thought deliriously, his own body giving in to the sure press, the stretch exquisite as Theseus’s whole hand slid home knuckle over palm over the delicate bones of his wrist, until the whole of it settled inside Asterius like some great heavy support.

It was enough to make him gasp, hand tightening on Theseus’s shoulder. His mouth ached for a kiss, yet the angle— there was not enough reach, not without Theseus withdrawing, and Asterius stoutly refused for that to happen in this moment.

“Ah—” Asterius groaned, the sound wounded, the air punched out of him more forcefully than by an actual blow to his body. His back arched at the press of Theseus’s hand inside him. Was it his imagination, or could he feel each individual finger waving against his prostate, tapping like some melody he could not make sense of? All he knew was that his body _sang,_ the pleasure of it sharp as a blade and sweet as honey wine in the back of his throat.

“You feel— _enormous_ ,” Asterius managed to gasp, not trusting himself to say more.

“You are lovely,” Theseus murmured. “How did we not do this sooner?” He sucked idly on Asterius’s cock, as if this was a leisurely massage post-bath, and not his entire _gods-damned fist inside Asterius’s body_.

 _You fill me so completely,_ Asterius wanted to say. _Like I was built only for your hands to take apart._ Thought made his breath stutter in his chest, the implication— their fated fight, his destruction, his rebirth in the underworld as a creature made for more than violence— it was too much. He turned his head to the side, away from Theseus’s lightning-bright eyes, to cast them to the ceiling instead. The carved frescos around their chambers’ ceiling were safer than the sparks cast at him from below.

Yet as though sensing his hesitancy, Theseus reached up to carefully, with the tips of his fingers, turn Asterius’s chin back down to face him.

“I would have you watch,” he said simply, his eyes softening. And Asterius could do nothing but obey, his attention caught as Theseus returned to his wet kisses, one hand slicking along the length of him while the other pressed inexorably deeper.

Asterius thought he could almost keep time by the slow slide of Theseus’s arm inside him: the fine bones of his wrist; the ever-widening press of his forearm. It was an impossible stretch, his own body threatening to give out— yet at each minute tensing, Theseus stopped, slowing his press until Asterius breathed again, whether as a gasp out or deep, desperate sucking of air into his dead lungs.

The pull back was— sublime. There was no other word for it. Asterius would not have survived it, if he had been alive. There was no debate about it. He would have simply perished, body so smashed by pleasure that it could not repair itself. He felt, even now, like he would simply discorporate if Theseus moved too quickly. (And what a way _that_ would be to go; would Hypnos comment, or simply wave him on back to Elysium? It could not have been the first time a shade had gone down the Styx from a pleasure-related injury.)

He could feel the shifting of bones and muscle as Theseus curled his fingers into an actual fist and shook it against his prostate. It felt like being beaten by a giant, the _hardsoftfirm_ shift of Theseus’s entire forearm inside him shifting his body like so much loam to be tilled.

And— oh— he _ached_ , blood rushing like it never had in life, his every nerve singing with life until the point of sharp, singing pain. The pleasure mixed with the overwhelming need to move, and Asterius found himself unable to stop— his hips jerked, jumping at the softest touch of Theseus’s mouth to his cock. A gentle hand on his flank felt like a brand, Theseus’s mouth an inferno, every press of knuckle against his prostate a bruising stab sharp enough to make him whimper.

He couldn’t even form words, gone beyond comprehension into the smallest of syllables. _“Oh,”_ he gasped, his spine curling inward. Theseus shifted inside him; he hissed, arching back up again. “Theseus—” he managed, only once, the desperation in his voice palpable as he stared, eyes wet, down at the man he loved so much.

Who else would have done this— who else would have listened, and treated him like some great treasure to unwrap piece by piece, a treat for eyes and body alike?

He could not pull Theseus up to kiss him properly without pulling him out of the clutch of his body, but he could still pluck with a shaking fingers at Theseus’s free hand, drawing it to his mouth to press desperate kisses to it, each huff of his breath hot as a forge’s gust as he gasped against Theseus’s knuckles.

He would not need much. He knew this, with the way his heat hammered in his chest like the beat of a war drum, each pulse hard enough to shake him. He only needed—

“Please,” he managed, licking his dry lips as he stared down at Theseus below him.

And Theseus, bless him, only smiled back, serene and joyous, given a mission he could fulfill. With directions, and a goal, Theseus was unstoppable. And here he focused like a hunting dog on the heels of its prey: he smiled, beatific, and bent to suck at Asterius’s cock with earnest fervor. He let his free hand be kissed, praised and held close like a favor to be carried always close, but his mouth was ravenous, the heat of it searing against the sensitive skin of Asterius’s frenulum.

Theseus shook his fist, once, gently, and yet each millimeter pressed at Asterius’s walls with an inexorable force. Asterius gripped Theseus’s free hand in his own, pressing it to his open lips like he could force the words through skin without the excruciating pain of whispering them aloud: _please, please, you know me, I need you—_

And then it was over, pleasure washing over him bright as the force of a celestial body smashing to earth, shocking as winter waters crashing over hot sand, Theseus’s hand against his lips like a favor of the gods themselves, tender, proud, beloved—

Asterius came to what could have been moments or minutes later, his mind unfogging as the room spun around him. He was distantly aware of the sweat coating his body, his fur clumping in dark curls. The press of pillows around him was almost suffocating. His whole body was wracked with shivers, the room seeming suddenly cool as his body effused all the heat his soul had borne.

And Theseus was there, pressing kisses to the side of his snouth, peppering them on his lips, his jaw, his flicking ears. His beloved king, body hot as a welcome bath against his own. Theseus’s hands wandered, searching for any hurt; not finding any, he laughed— softly, as if to himself in wonder.

“You are well?” he asked at last, his eyes searching Asterius’s own sleepy gaze for any sign of discomfort.

“I do not think I could be better,” Asterius said. His voice slurred with exhaustion. He felt like he had run a dozen marathons, each uphill in a tornado. His body ached, and yet was so warm he thought he might never be this comfortable ever again. He let himself close his eyes and bask in it: in his body, sated; in Theseus, firm and broad against him, blessedly close and murmuring soft praises into his shoulder.

Would that he had had this sooner; would that he would have the bravery to ask for it again.

He would take whatever he was given— he was not unthankful for the pleasures of the afterlife he had been privy to thus far— but he knew that eternity stretched before them, and with it infinite opportunities.

He would have Theseus a thousand times, a thousand ways.

And he would be had in return.


End file.
